


remember the time you drove all night

by redbatman



Series: season 12 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Together, Grace Sex, Holding Hands, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, References to Canonical Character Death, Shower Sex, canonverse, emotional whiplash, especially, god what else do i even put...a lot happened in this fic uh, holding hands during sex, i got emotional whiplash writing it, tbh, theres a lot of holding hands in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbatman/pseuds/redbatman
Summary: “Dean,” he struggles to find the words, the English words, to express himself. “Were you sincere, when you said that you believe I belong here? With you?”“I-yeah, Cas, of course I meant it,” he touches Castiel’s arm again. Just once. Just lightly. “We’re family.”He feels vulnerable, pinned down by the weight of Castiel’s suddenly intense stare. “What kind of family are we, Dean?” he squints and furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head. Dean feels himself involuntarily tilt his head in empathetic response, as if he’s attached to him by a fucking invisible string.Cas is leaning into his space now and Dean isn’t edging away, isn’t stuttering out a defensive Cas, personal space like he always has before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so I started writing this immediately after 12.03 premiered and it's the first fic I've ever finished and posted! wow. title is from first day of my life by bright eyes which like, how lame of me.

Dean can’t even meet her eyes when she says she’s leaving them.

His ears are ringing and a bolt of nauseating heat that flashed through him from head to toes when the other shoe finally dropped has settled in his gut to make him feel sick. He couldn’t help but instinctively shift back when she made a move towards him, which makes him feel terrible and guilty and like a bad person ( _bad son, bad son, bad son_ ) but he knows that if she had crowded into his space and looked at him with those soul-bruised eyes, let alone made physical contact, he would’ve burst into tears like that crybaby four-year-old kid she wishes he still was.

Mary seems to know that there’s nothing she can say or do in this moment that will make it okay, short of _not leaving_. So she doesn’t. She’ll be packing and heading out in the morning going to God knows where, but he’ll make sure she has what she needs and wants wherever she ends up heading to. Maybe they can call Jody up and ask her how she feels about Mary staying with her, Alex and Claire. Bitterly, he wonders if his mom would prefer the company of teenage girls over her adult sons; if it would make her feel more like a mother.

He knows he’s not being fair at all, but he can’t fucking help it. He doesn’t _feel_ fair. He feels like he’s losing his mom for a second time, except this time she’s choosing to leave him. He isn’t what she wants, isn’t who she wants to be with. And that’s just it, isn’t it? The real kicker. He thought that he could rebuild his family from scratch like a patchwork quilt, which is why he kept ignoring the signs that Mary felt like an alien in his world, why he kept ignoring Sam’s raised concerns.

They aren’t the same people that they were, and they never will be. Dean never had a fucking chance at a normal family, or a normal life, ever since the yellow-eyed demon marked out his baby brother to be the Chosen One or whatever. He can fight, beg, and pray, but there’s no hope on God’s green Earth of reversing their given fate. His chance at happiness went up in smoke when he was barely old enough to read, and he can never escape what he was raised to be.

His head is still swimming when Sam says his name. His little brother sounds choked up, and he instantly feels ashamed for not already rushing to his side, not already being there to comfort and protect him. He can’t even imagine what Sam’s experiencing right now, being given an experience, a relationship that he never imagined he would have, and having it cut short.

At least Sam is smarter than him, less willfully ignorant of cracks in a tenuous dynamic. Sam had seen this coming, for sure, and tried to warn him, tried to talk about it. Smart, brave Sam, once his sole reason for living, who had been clever enough to get out of this life all those years back and make his way to Stanford and to Jess. Dean had ruined that for him, too.

_I’m poison._

Sam says his name again, whispery and cracked with emotion, and then clears his throat softly. “Do you want me to call up Jody and ask if it’s cool if mom crashes with them? I don’t know if she’ll want to, but at least Jody’ll have a heads up that she could get a visitor, and mom can meet other Hunters?”

“Yeah, um, sure Sammy,” Dean realizes he’s been clutching the table since Mary left the room. “That sounds good.”

“Okay…” Sam stares at him inscrutably, and God, Dean _hates_ that, can feel the gears of Sam’s mind whirring from here. He knows he should talk, knows Sam has always been right that he needs to open up more, but in his defense, having to talk about his _feelings_ makes him feel like one of those corpses they’re always fraudulently taking a peek at post-autopsy, all flayed open, possibly with his liver torn out by werewolves.

Another beat of silence, and Dean can’t stand to be in this staring contest of misery anymore. He flicks his eyes back down to the floor. Sam, mercifully, doesn’t try to push him. “I’ll go make the call,” he says, swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “And then I’ll go talk to mom and see what she thinks, maybe talk about her plans.”

Dean nods almost imperceptibly, making firm eye contact with the edge of the table. “Yeah. Yeah. Awesome.”

“Good night Dean,” Sam swipes his thumbs hastily under his eyes and turns to go.

“Good night Sam,” he replies in an embarrassing cracked whisper.

Sam pauses in the doorway. “Please. Talk to me if you need to, Dean. Please.”

Dean’s _okay_ comes out as barely a mumble, and he feels so _young_

God, he hasn’t gotten drunk in a couple weeks. He’d been proud of it, glad that he’d been managing to avoid using it as a crutch to deal with pain, physical and otherwise, but he’s past caring about distancing himself from his “bad coping mechanisms” (something Sam had talked to him about that he had read in a self-help book he picked up at the local library a few months back). He deserves this. He deserves the green light to act like a fucking idiot.

So that’s how he ends up on his ass on the floor of the bunker kitchen, clutching old photographs, others spread out across his lap, a bottle discarded next to him, having a panic attack against the counter. Good Lord, it hasn’t been this bad since he first got back from purgatory, and he can’t say he’s missed the way he can hyperventilate so much that it feels like he’s gonna pass out, can’t say he missed the roaring ocean sound in his ears, the overwhelming sickening heat travelling up and down his body, the nausea spitting in his stomach, the uncontrollable sobs that choke out his breathing, or the mind-numbing fear.

He begins to calm down when he’s finished hysterically ripping up a few childhood photographs, the panic and unstoppable feeling of _wrongwrongwrong can’t escape can’t escape_ melting away into sadness and shame. He clutches the damaged pictures and weeps like a child, lets a whine slip out of his throat and build until his shoulders are shaking with it.

When he manages to get enough of a fucking grip to stand, he splashes his face in the sink and fills himself a glass of water. Downs it. Fills another. He’s still trembling when he reaches for his phone, flicking through messages for something to do, when his eyes fall on his last conversation with Castiel, ages ago now.

Well, what the hell, he needs a distraction.

 **dean [10:16 pm]:** hey hows lucifer

 **cas [10:17 pm]:** He is with the fish.

 **cas [10:18 pm]:** That is not a figure of speech. He is quite literally with the fish. Rowena used magic to trick him and accelerate the decomposition of his vessel and then banished him to the bottom of the ocean.

 **dean [10:20 pm]:** wow. k. so good mission then.

 **cas [10:21 pm]:** I suppose, from an objective standpoint. But I had to cooperate with Crowley. So my day has left something to be desired.

 **dean [10:22 pm]:** bet u wish ud stayed for coffee with me instead

A few minutes pass with no message and Dean starts to psych himself out. Normally Castiel is a fast-draw on the texts, sending grammatically perfect messages interspersed with a truly criminal amount of emojis. It’s actually kind of adorable, not that Dean’d ever admit to thinking it anything other than obnoxious. Did he go too far with that last text? Did it make him seem clingy, like some kind of desperate bunker housewife? He almost jumps as he gets a notif.

 **cas [10:30 pm]:** In all honesty, it would have been an infinitely more pleasant way to spend my time. I miss the bunker already. I wish to return to it as soon as possible.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

 **cas [10:32 pm]:** What about you, Dean? How have you been?

Oh God. Well. Conversation cancelled. Dean presses the button on the side of his phone that makes the screen go dark and starts cleaning up the huge mess he made. He’s about ready to go take a long shower to contemplate everything that makes him a fundamentally unlovable person and probably have an unsatisfying self-loathing fueled jerk off session when his phone starts ringing.

“H’lo?” he answers, voice embarrassingly raw.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel’s deep gentle voice replies.

Dean instantly goes into Hunter mode. “Hey Cas, what’s up? Do you need something?”

“Can’t I just want to talk?” Castiel sounds a touch amused, a touch fond, but the fond part is probably just all in Dean’s head. Wishful fucking thinking.

Guilt instantly curls in his gut. “Of course you can, I, uh, of course you can,” Dean bangs his hip on the counter as he makes his way out of the kitchen. He bites back his hiss of pain and coughs. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You,” Cas says, simply and earnestly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to express.

“Me?” Dean forces a laugh, trying to sound amused, but sounding more nervous than anything.

“Yes,” he replies. “You. I want to talk about you, because I want to make sure you know that it’s okay for you to be unhappy.”

“Cas, I-”

Cas quickly presses on. “I don’t intend to imply that it’s desirable or acceptable for you to be unhappy. I do not enjoy it when you are. I merely want to ensure that you know that pretending to be okay is not something you have to do for me, for my sake.”

Dean’s ears are ringing again, for a different reason.

“I am your friend,” Castiel continues, his tone turned quiet and soft, making the phrase sound like an incantation or prayer. Something with power.

Suddenly, Dean has a fucking crazy idea. “Can you come back to the bunker?” he blurts out, before he has the chance to back down. “Don’t force yourself if you don’t want to be here, or if you’re not done your business yet. But. I want you to know. I really want you here. I love it when you’re here. This is where you belong, man. Because you’re my friend too.”

He hears the feedback from air being blown into the receiver and realizes Castiel has sighed into the phone. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies awkwardly. God, he’s not really used to just saying shit like that. He should tell Sam about this. He’d be so proud.

“…So I’ll probably be back home sometime before sunrise,” Cas speaks carefully, like he’s concerned he’s misinterpreted something, gotten the wires crossed.

“I thought your wings were still broken, how could you get here that fast?” Dean immediately kicks himself for being an insensitive asshole, but Cas just huffs a laugh.

“I’ll take the car, Dean. Also, my wings may not be fully prepared for long distance flight at the moment, but there are other ways I can speed up my journey using my Grace.”

“Are ya sure it’s worth it?” it’s a genuine question from his end.

“Absolutely,” Castiel is firm and confident. “Is it worth it for you?”

Dean feels a light warmth spreading through his chest. “Yes. Yeah. See you then.”

“I don’t want to wake you if you’re resting-”

“It’s okay,” Dean interrupts. “Please wake me, honestly. Please. Wanna see you, buddy.”

“Okay,” even from miles away Dean can tell that Cas is smiling. “Good bye Dean.”

It’s hours later when Dean is fitfully dreaming in his room in the bunker (and how crazy is that still? His own bedroom!) that the door creaks open. The sound wakes him instantly; years of a Hunter lifestyle has made him the lightest sleeper on Earth. Even the quiet flutter of angel wings would probably rouse him.

“Hey Cas,” he sits up and sleepily smiles as Castiel walks over to the bed and sits down.

Looking to Dean wordlessly for affirmation that this is okay, he gets a nod in return and allows himself to settle comfortably with his legs crossed. “Dean,” it’s half a greeting, half a statement.

They sit there in each other’s company in comfortable silence for a moment, before Castiel looks at Dean and frowns, his expression visible in the semi-dark thanks to the dim lamp Dean left on to help chase the nightmares away. He tilts his head. “Would you or Sam be angry if I ripped Crowley’s heart out of his chest?”

Dean almost laughs. “Trouble in paradise?” he jokes.

“Dean,” Cas says very seriously. “I hate him. I have always hated him. And he has long outlived the argument that he has potential unique usefulness, unless there is some key detail I am missing.”

Dean grins. “Love it when you get all bloodthirsty,” he teases, weakly pushing at his shoulder.

There’s an almost imperceptible intake of breath from Castiel at the contact, and Dean blushes. Another beat of silence and Cas hums in his throat, turning his body towards him.

“Dean,” he struggles to find the words, the English words, to express himself. “Were you sincere, when you said that you believe I belong here? With you?”

“I-yeah, Cas, of course I meant it,” he touches Castiel’s arm again. Just once. Just lightly. “We’re family.”

He feels vulnerable, pinned down by the weight of Castiel’s suddenly intense stare. “What kind of family are we, Dean?” he squints and furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head. Dean feels himself involuntarily tilt his head in empathetic response, as if he’s attached to him by a fucking invisible string.

Cas is leaning into his space now and Dean isn’t edging away, isn’t stuttering out a defensive _Cas, personal space_ like he always has before.

Carefully, giving Dean the chance to move away or stop him, Castiel turns to fully face him, moving in so their foreheads are touching and his big hands are covering his knees. “Because I have never felt like your brother,” his breath tickles Dean’s nose.

Their mouths are inches away from each other and Dean is trembling. Cas rubs his hands gently on his waist and makes a comforting sound in his throat. “Is this okay-” he begins, breaking off with a reverent sigh when Dean closes the space between them and presses their lips together.

They end up settled together on the bed with Dean on his back and Cas between his legs, Dean’s arms around his neck and Castiel’s hands running up and down Dean’s sides underneath his shirt as they kiss slowly, lovingly. Dean gasps when he slips and rubs his thigh between his legs and Cas instantly breaks off the kiss, propping himself up above Dean with his arms bracketing his head. “Is this okay?” he asks, cupping Dean’s chin gently in his hand.

Oh _Christ_ , Dean thinks, immediately feeling hysterical over the accidental blasphemy. Fuck, this entire thing is blasphemy. He’s making out with an angel. He has a boner for an angel. An angel. A warrior of heaven, who is his family, but not his _brother_ , and who looks absolutely divine above him, mouth kissed pink and hair looking even more windswept and like _damn sex hair_ than usual.

Oh man. No way in hell. Castiel is not his fucking _brother_.

“Yes,” he practically whines, which should be beyond embarrassing but oh my God he’s dealing with the culmination of an eight year long fucking slow burn case of angel induced blue balls here. “Please.”

Cas leans down and kisses him on the mouth, then on the nose, his chin, his cheeks, both eyelids, moves to his neck and presses kisses up to his ear. When he gently pulls at Dean’s earlobe with his teeth and licks it, Dean whines _loudly_ , hands scrabbling at Castiel’s back, and Castiel laughs right in his ear. He blushes and moves to cover his mouth with a hand, breathing heavily through his nose, but Cas just gently pulls away his fingers and laces them with his own, reaching behind his back to do the same with his other hand, before pressing them down on either side of his head and leaning in to kiss his mouth again.

He doesn’t know how long they stay pressed together, Cas kissing him slowly and deeply, rubbing his thumbs on the back of Dean’s hands where he has him pinned down. Eventually, reluctantly, Dean extricates himself with a gasp. “Hey,” he blushes, meeting Castiel’s blue blue blue eyes, which are practically fucking _sparkling_ , and God he’s so gay for thinking that. “I, uh, need a shower. Do you…want to come?”

 _Does he want to come?_ Dean is going to stab himself in the ear for that accidental innuendo.

Cas squeezes his hands once and half sits up, which makes him basically end up straddling Dean with those thighs that make him want to convert to the religion of Castiel’s choosing. “I don’t need a shower,” Cas does that bird head tilt at him again, and Dean scans his face to see if he’s messing with him.

“I kind of, uh,” he can feel heat spreading down his face and knows his neck and chest will be flushed now. “Wasn’t really asking if you wanted a _shower_ …” he lets his voice trail off, his face growing warmer as comprehension flashes across Castiel’s face.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas looks so damn happy and fuck, if he isn’t the most beautiful person Dean’s ever seen. “Yes, Dean. I’ve wanted that for so long.”

They try to make their way out of the room, but Cas doesn’t seem to be willing to let go of either of Dean’s hands, so they kind of spin out of his bed like they’re dance partners, in a rather risqué modern routine, judging by the way Castiel ends up pressing Dean against the door with his hands above his head and grinding against him.

Cas ends up finally letting go of his hands in order to reach his hands down to hike up Dean’s thighs around his waist. “Is this okay?” he asks again, and Dean just nods comically fast like a bobble head, gets the breath knocked out of him when Castiel just finishes picking him up like he weighs nothing, wraps his hands around his neck and lets Cas carry him.

Once they reach the shower, Cas sets him down, but he can’t seem to stop kissing him long enough for either of them to get undressed. Dean pulls back and laughs into his mouth. “Cas. Cas. Let me-” he tugs at Castiel’s collar, fingers trembling and fumbling with the buttons. In return, Cas lunges at the neck of his shirt, and they spend a clumsy few minutes trying to undress each other simultaneously, neither one willing to stay still for a moment.

Finally, Dean steps out of his tangled boxers and tugs Cas in the shower with him, using his free hand to turn on the spray. He curses at the cold temperature and frantically fiddles with the knob, abandoning his efforts and gasping as Castiel’s warm arms wrap around his stomach.

“Is this okay?” Cas checks in again, chest plastered to Dean’s back. Dean just swears loudly by way of reply and grabs frantically at his hands, lacing their fingers together again.

He feels _surrounded_ by Cas, who just stands there holding him under the water. “You’re so beautiful,” Cas rumbles in his ear, sounding unbearably sincere, as always, kissing the space on his neck just below. “Thank you for wanting me.”

When he finally gets a hand around him, Dean chokes back a sob. “I love these,” Castiel breathes, pressing little kisses to the freckles at the base of Dean’s neck. “Have you ever heard the story that all freckles are kisses from angels?” he’s moved on to the ones on his shoulder, and Dean can’t stop shaking. “It’s not true, obviously, but if it were,” he pauses to suck a kiss on his collarbone. “I would make sure you had freckles everywhere.”

Dean can’t do anything but tremble and gasp and flush red all over. “Do you like it when I tell you how beautiful you are?” Cas continues, which would sound lame coming from anyone else if it weren’t for the fact that he’s not even trying to dirty talk, he’s just accidentally being the hottest person ever, as per usual. “I wish you knew,” he says. “How your soul looked the first time I saw it. Because then you’d know why ever since then, leaving you has never been an option. I’d carve out my own Grace without a second thought if that’s what it took to keep me by your side, for as long as you want me.”

“You’re so _good_ , Dean,” Castiel sounds awed, and that’s it. Dean can’t hold back anymore, gasping _Cas, Cas, Cas,_ and clutching at his hands. Cas is holding him through it, whispering stuff in his ear, some of which Dean recognizes at least, as being in human languages, and others completely alien and ancient sounding, words he probably learned on other planes of reality, millennia before the first fish crawled out of the ocean.

“I’ll always want you with me, Cas,” he slurs, dazed and overwhelmed. “I need you.”

Cas turns him around and kisses him. “Need to see your face,” he says. “Say that again, Dean.”

“I need you,” Dean obeys, gasping as Cas moves against him. “I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you, I need you, I need you, _God Castiel_ ,” Castiel stutters when Dean breathes out his full name, and a high pitched noise like the one that shattered the windows when Dean first crawled out of his grave starts up low and begins to build. It seems to be coming from everywhere, surrounding and filling the room and ripping through him. It peaks as Castiel grips his right shoulder tight with his hand and yells into Dean’s shoulder as his entire body glows and hums with light and the breathtaking thrum of his Grace.

Afterwards, Cas washes Dean carefully and dries them both. They pull on their underwear and stagger back to Dean’s bedroom. Dean shyly asks him if he’s going to stay tonight and Cas holds his face in both hands and kisses him by way of reply.

They end up together under the covers, Castiel holding him, their ankles tangled together.

“That isn’t what I expected would happen tonight,” Cas comments dryly, pressing his lips to the back of his neck. Dean snorts, and then they’re both laughing, pressed together from shoulders to toes. It feels so fucking good to have something to laugh about.

Cas huffs a final amused breath next to Dean’s ear, before turning serious. “But Dean, I really did mean to ask you what’s upsetting you.”

Dean stiffens involuntarily, and Cas tightens his arms around him in reassurance, pressing little kisses to his shoulderblades.

“Mom’s leaving,” he half-mumbles it into the pillow. “Sam and me being all grown up is too weird for her to handle. She said she misses Dad…misses her sons.”

“You think this is your fault,” Cas says. It’s not a question.

Dean just shivers. Cas hums against his neck and rubs his hands on Dean’s stomach.

“Your mother is an incredible woman,” Cas continues. “I like her very much. But it was wrong of her to imply that you and your brother aren’t truly her sons.”

Dean hums wounded in his throat. “Well, she has been through a lot. Sammy’s gone from a baby to a sasquatch. And I-” he swallows, his eyes burning. “I’m definitely not her sweet little boy.”

“It’s not wrong to see this as unfair,” Castiel circles his fingertips on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s not wrong to be upset, even angry. It’s not good for you, or Sam, to keep hiding from yourselves and each other. Ultimately, it will not help you.”

Tears slide down Dean’s face, catching on his lips and wetting the pillow. “When will I stop fucking everything up?” he whispers, feeling humiliated by the watery hoarseness of his voice.

Cas kisses the corner of his eye. “You are good,” he says firmly, like it’s a God given truth.

They lapse into silence for a minute, shifting against each other quietly, absorbing the other shock-this is real now. Dean and Castiel, the will they-won’t they of universe altering and fate shattering proportions.

“Can I tell you something?” Cas sighs against his hair, and Dean mumbles _yeah_.

Castiel tenses for a moment.

“Hannah was murdered,” Cas says. “A while ago now, very shortly after the Darkness was released. I miss them every day. I didn’t kill them, and rationally I know it was not my fault, but I can’t make myself stop thinking about how if it weren’t for me, they would be alive. So many others too, would be alive.”

“Cas, I’m so-” Dean starts to say, but Castiel shushes him gently.

“I’ve made so many mistakes. I know I’ll make many more. But Hannah was not my mistake. My friendship with them was something good, and the way other angels exploited and twisted that was not my responsibility,” he squeezes Dean’s hand. “I’ve been coming to terms with that.”

“I didn’t tell you this for your sympathy Dean, and I do think there’s much I have kept from you that I should tell you about, some other time. The point of this is that I am still incredibly grateful to have known Hannah, despite the pain it caused me. Just like I am blessed to know you. I would rather live a life where I experience pain, but also great love, than a life following orders. You gave me that, Dean.”

Dean squirms, cheeks burning. “Aw, Cas, I’m not that special-”

“You _are_ ,” insists Cas, authority rolling out off his tongue with intent. Dean gets a flashback of when Castiel was the new God and damn, that really shouldn’t turn him on. “You give so much of yourself to others, yet you see it as your simple duty. Only a truly good man would behave as you do.”

“You’re good too, Cas,” Dean brings the palm of Castiel’s hand up to his mouth and brushes his lips against it gently. “Couldn’t do this without you. Belong with me.”

Castiel pulls at his shoulders, turns him around and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

When he gently breaks away, he laughs at Dean’s little noise of complaint. “I believe that Mary will come back to you,” he presses his forehead to Dean’s and laces their fingers together where they’re laying now face to face. “Her alienation in this new world will fade and when that time comes she will want to be with her sons. With _you_. Her brave boy.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Dean instantly hates himself for how childish and needy he sounds.

Cas presses a kiss to his nose. “She’s a Winchester. In the time I spent with her at the bunker, she reminded me so much of you. I see where you get so much of your goodness, and so much of your soul. Your family truly embodies the idea of wrong decisions made for the right reasons. I believe she will be back, but whatever she does, it is not your responsibility,” he extricates a hand to cradle Dean’s cheek. “You aren’t the one who has to carry the weight of everyone else’s emotional burdens, Dean. You are not Atlas holding up the sky.”

“I ripped up pictures,” he blurts out in a rush, ashamed. “I freaked out and tore up some pictures. God, I wish I hadn’t.”

Castiel holds him tighter. “I’ll make them whole again. In the morning.”

He can’t help himself, he kisses Cas over and over again. God, he’s so in love, though he’s not sure when he’ll be ready to admit it out loud.

Dean has ended up curled inward like a bean with his head pillowed on Castiel’s chest when his eyes fall on his digital clock. “Well whaddaya know,” he mumbles into Castiel’s shirt. “It’s almost morning.”

Castiel’s solid hands rub slow circles on his back. “Would you like to make coffee together and watch the sunrise?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles. “I’d love that.”

Half an hour later, he and Cas are sitting outside clutching mugs of black coffee and watching the sky light up with colour. Dean listens to Castiel’s story about the first time he saw the sun rise, his blue eyes lighting up with happiness at the memory.

 _Yeah_ , Dean lets himself think. _Maybe one day I can be okay_.

**Author's Note:**

> bc this is my first fic: i wanna say. hey. whats up, nice to meet u. thanks for getting here. i'm a sensitive deancas lesbian. i might post more things for u to look at with ur eyeballs in the future. 
> 
> other questions u might have that u would expect an endnote to answer:  
> q: where were the emojis in castiels texts???  
> a: im too damn lazy to use one of those fake text apps to create a conversation so ive given u creative freedom to imagine whatever emojis u want. my only wish is that u imagine them to be many and varied. thank u.
> 
> q: how does castiel travel faster using his grace?? did u just make that up  
> a: Yes, i did just make that up. and the answer is: Move, I'm Gay. 
> 
> #deanisthelittlespoon


End file.
